The Adventures of Dixie Dandelion

by R. H. Burkett

  Peg refilled his coffee cup and poured a mug for me. He slid a plate of biscuits and gravy across the table.

  “Hungry?”

  My belly squirmed. Wasn’t ready for food yet. “Ah, no. Coffee is all I need.”

  He chuckled like he knew my stomach flipped and flopped like a turtle on its back.

  Not ready to meet the amusement in his deep brown eyes, I looked around the kitchen and peeked into the parlor. We were alone, except for Peg. “Where is everyone?” I asked Peg.

  McCullough answered instead. “Sleeping in, I reckon. Quite a shindig you had last night.”

  Heat raced up my neck, and I knew the tiny freckles across the bridge of my nose danced in its glow.

  Peg grinned. “I need to wake them up, get ready for business.”

  My heart leaped, and I shot her a pleading look. Wasn’t ready to be alone with McCullough. She ignored me and gave him a wink. “Jackson, stay as long as you want. You’re always welcome.”

  I gave him a weak smile and raised the cup to my mouth. Banged the rim against my teeth. Coffee sloshed on the linen tablecloth. Dammit!

  “Kill any men lately?”

  Fear and surprise fanned the heat into a prairie fire. How did he know about Calhoun? Nerves snapped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Easy, gal. It’s a logical question considering what you tried with Whitaker.”

  He was talking about Whitaker. Not Calhoun. Be calm. Wait. What did he mean, try?

  “Try?”

  “You didn’t kill Whitaker, darlin’.”

  I didn’t believe him. “That’s impossible. The blood. He hit the back of his head…”

  “Oh, you came close, but he’s still kickin.’ Course his nose is as crooked as a dog’s hind leg. What you hit him with anyway?”

  “My fist.”

  He pushed back from the table and grinned. “Dang, darlin’, remind me never to make you mad.”

  A tiny sense of pride swelled and gave me confidence to look him in the face. Wished I hadn’t. His eyes bored a hole straight through my heart into my soul. Unflinchingly, I stared back. Took all the nerve I had.

  “Widow McGuire found him. Said she heard some commotion outside and went to check her washing. Found a bloody dress and some clothes missing.”

  “Did she mention the money I left for those clothes?”

  His grinned widened. “Nope. Not a word.”

  “Huh. Didn’t think so.”

  “Whitaker lost a lot of blood, but he’s on the mend. Doc Webster on the train patched him up. Said he’ll walk with a limp the rest of his mangy life. Whitaker told everyone you ambushed him, stole his money, and left him for dead. You wounded his pride and ruined his pretty face, darlin’.”

  “Should’ve shot the yellow dog.”

  “Yeah, well, from what I hear, you were better off stabbing him.”

  Who had he been talking too?

  “I noticed Joe was gone when I got back to the train. Figured Whitaker had tried something. Got asked if I’d seen you on the trail. They were going to come after ya, darlin’, but I told them since it was my horse you stole, I’d ride into Six Shooter Siding instead.”

  “You know I didn’t steal Joe, just borrowed him. Isn’t that why you left him saddled?”

  He skirted the question.

  “Guess you got yourself a horse. I can’t go back with him and without you.”

  The hardwood chair creaked when he leaned in closer to me. All playfulness left his face, and his words came so low I struggled to hear them. “Dixie, did Whitaker hurt you?”

  Wasn’t expecting the raw emotion in his voice. My heart shivered. “No,” I whispered.

  A sigh so soft I thought I’d dreamed it came from deep inside him. His hand reached for mine but pulled back before our fingers touched.

  “Darlin’, listen to me. That man spits on the ground you walk. He’ll hunt you down until he either finds you or until the end of time, whichever comes first.”

  “Let him come. I ain’t sacred of him.”

  His features turned to granite. “You should be. If he finds you…” A deep breath. “Just don’t let him find you.”

  Again his concern made my insides stir. For a heartbeat, time stopped, and all that mattered was the compassion that smoldered in the warmth of his dark eyes. His look quickly turned mischievous.

  “Thought you didn’t like being called Dixie?”

  Heat rushed up my neck for the hundredth time that morning. Damnation. If I didn’t stop blushing at his every word, he’d be calling me Strawberry Nellie next. “Didn’t figure it be wise to give my real name. Dixie just popped out of my mouth.”

  “Uh, huh. Guess the same thing happened with dandelion?” Before I could think of a smart answer, he asked, “By the way, where is Joe?”

  Irritated that he suspected I actually liked his pet name, I snapped, “Big Mike’s barn. Thought that would be the first place you’d look since he’s your contact man.”

  “What gave you that idea?”

  “I found your badge. I just assumed. I mean. That’s why he offered me a job, wasn’t it? Didn’t you tell him I might be riding in?”

  “Darlin’, I didn’t tell Donovan nothing.”

  “But you are a lawman, aren’t ya?”

  Two breaths went by. Thought he wasn’t going to answer. He sighed. “Pinkerton Detective. But I don’t know Donovan.”

  More confused than ever, I sipped my coffee and tried to figure out where I’d gone wrong. Someone was keeping McCullough informed, but it if wasn’t Big Mike, than who? I cleared my throat. “Guess you want your knife and pistol back.”

  He shook his head, and a crooked grin made his dimples flash. “Nope. You keep ’em. But I do need my saddlebags…and that badge.”

  I squirmed in the chair. Had to ask him for a favor. Would rather walk barefoot through a cactus patch. Not looking at him, I played with the delicate lace on my dress collar.

  “I…ah…been told I don’t shoot that well. Think you could teach me?”

  His lips twitched. By God, if he dared laugh at me, I’d pound his Stetson flatter than a snake’s belly.

  As if reading my mind, he reached for the hat and stood. Almost got a kink in my neck looking up at him.

  “I’ll make ya a deal. You stay quiet about who I am, and I’ll teach ya to shoot.”

  “Deal.”

  He walked to the kitchen’s back door, then turned. “Tell Peg thanks for breakfast. I’ll be around.”

  In one fluid movement, he crossed back to the table. With a swift touch, he lifted my chin with his finger and smiled deep into my eyes. Stood so close, the clean, fresh scent of his shaving soap washed over me.

  “Good to see ya’ again, darlin’.” A small chuckle told me he knew damn well my heart fluttered like a wounded bird. “You look mighty pretty in green, Dixie Belle Dandelion.”

  Before I could stop the redness from circling my neck, he was gone.

  Chapter Nine

  “Whoo-wee! Takes your breath away, don’t he?”

  Sassy leaned against the parlor door dressed in a flowing, bright pink robe with delicate feathers at the cuffs. Wondered how long she’d been there and just how much she’d seen and heard.

  “I hadn’t noticed,” I said.

  “Oh, Dixie.” She chuckled. “If God loved a liar, he’d squeeze you to death.”

  “That obvious?”

  “Yep.”

  She poured a cup of coffee and sat beside me. Sunlight captured the rings on her fingers with its rays and threw tiny rainbows of light across the shiny mahogany table. “But don’t feel bad. You’re not the only woman that’s slobbered over him.”

  Slobber? I didn’t salivate over any man, no matter how good looking. “I don’t—” Her don’t-try-and-fool-me look stopped me cold. Okay, maybe I did drool…but only a little.

  Wide-eyed, I watched her pour half the sugar bowl into her cup. She met my stare with faked innocence. “What? Sugar
’s good for the soul.”

  Couldn’t help but grin, but a nagging thought tugged at me. How did she know McCullough? Couldn’t explain why, but I didn’t want him to be her client.

  “Don’t worry, he’s not.” She smiled at my gasp. “Don’t ever play poker, Dixie. Your face is an open book. And in answer to the next question rattling around in that ‘mighty pretty’ little head of yours, he isn’t a customer of The White Dove.”

  She took a sip of coffee, winced, and then added another spoonful of sugar. “Oh, he could hang his spurs on anyone of our bedposts that’s for sure, but he chooses not to.”

  “Then, how do you know him?”

  From the pocket of her robe, she pulled out a cheroot and lit up. A twinge of vanilla circled the cozy kitchen. Still floored me to see a woman smoking. Long stork-like legs crossed, and she took a deep drag. Acted like she was trying to make up her mind on something. Whatever it was, the satisfied look on her face made me believe she came to terms with it. She smiled.

  “McCullough and I work together.”

  “You? You’re his contact man…ah…woman?”

  “Well, who better to keep her finger on the pulse of a town than a soiled dove?”

  “So, you’re not really one of Peg’s girls? You’re a Pinkerton Detective?”

  “Let’s just say I’m a woman of many talents.”

  “Does Peg know?”

  “Of course. In our business it’s always helpful to have the law owing ya a favor or two.”

  She flicked the ashes off the cheroot with fingernails painted the same bright pink as her robe and grinned. “You didn’t have it figured all wrong. Big Mike isn’t McCullough’s contact, but he is a Pinkerton. The railroad hired him to keep peace between the Chinese and the town folk. He’s what they call undercover. Masquerading as a supervisor.”

  Good God Almighty. For a place that wasn’t supposed to have any law, Six Shooter Siding was crawling with lawmen.

  “Donovan and McCullough are partners. Been working together as Pinkerton Agents ever since—” She paused.

  “Ever since what?”

  A slight smile pulled her painted lips, and she shook her head. “Ever since Jackson lost his family.”

  My breath caught. “What do you mean, lost?”

  With a quick look around, she stubbed her cigarette out in one of Peg’s china saucers. Wasn’t sure Peg would like that.

  “Dixie, I ain’t sure I should be talking like this. Jackson has a lot of secrets bottled up inside him, and if he knew Big Mike spilled his guts and told them to me in a moment of…ah, let’s say, passion, well, I’m just not sure what would happen.”

  Curiosity burned. Had to know. “I won’t tell anyone, Sassy.” I crossed my heart and spit. “I promise.”

  She stirred more sugar in her cup and frowned. How she could drink that much sweet was beyond me, but then again, anyone who could down tequila easy as water could handle anything poured into a mug. A heavy sigh broke the silence.

  “Jackson was sixteen when his pa died. Promised him on his deathbed that he would always protect his mother and younger sister. The family moved from Ohio to Kansas to live with his aunt. Everything settled nice and easy until four years later when the War Between the States broke out.”

  The war. Its evil made me sick.

  “Dixie, you all right? Look peaked as milk toast.”

  “I’m fine,” I lied. “Still queasy from the tequila.”

  She leaned back in the chair and grinned. “Well, you ain’t supposed to guzzle it like a pig in swill.”

  Now was a fine time to tell me.

  “Jackson didn’t want to have anything to do with the fighting. His pa hailed from Ohio, but his ma and aunt were raised somewhere in the south. Virginia or Georgia. Don’t recall which. Don’t matter. The point being, he had kin and friends on both sides. Then there was the promise he’d made to his pa about taking care of his family. Joining the war would force him to break that vow, and Jackson Wayne McCullough never goes back on his word.”

  She pulled another cheroot from her pocket and lit up. Could practically taste the sweet tobacco on my tongue.

  “Anyway”—she blew out a lung full of smoke―”Jackson decided he wasn’t going to join any side. Not a popular decision with most, but he ignored them.” A thin eyebrow arched. “He shouldn’t have.”

  Something in her tone of voice froze my butt to the chair.

  “He was gone hunting when the marauders attacked. Came back to find his house and fields on fire.”

  Her voice caught.

  My body tensed.

  “Found his ma, aunt, and little sister dead.”

  “They killed them?” I gasped.

  “And worse.”

  I tore out the back door like my hair was on fire. Puked my guts in the bushes lining the split-rail fence. Weak knees buckled, and I slumped to the dirt. Poor Jackson. No wonder his face turned so ashen when he asked if Whitaker hurt me.

  Anger boiled inside me. Frustration simmered alongside it. So unfair. Life was so unfair. I wanted to cry. To scream. To shoot something. I grabbed a rock hiding in the dirt and threw it a country mile. Hated the war.

  The war took Papa away and turned my life upside down.

  The war forced Mama to marry Whitaker. A fatal mistake.

  The war tore me from home and put me on a wagon train in the middle of nowhere.

  The war came within a frog’s hair of turning me into a killer.

  The war cost Jackson his family.

  That stupid damn war.

  A soulful whine made me turn. Fang stood beside me peering at my face with eyes the color of slate. Itching to touch something alive and real, I reached for him and buried my face into silky fur that smelled strangely of lavender.

  Damnation. What was I doing? This dog could gnaw my face off. But he didn’t. Instead, he curled beside me and laid a heavy moose paw in my lap. Acted like he’d claimed me for his own and that he understood the torment flooding my heart. Sorry Fancy but I’m gonna steal your dog.

  The strong scent of lye soap made my eyes tear. Wash day. Chinese laundry girls no bigger than matchsticks wrestled Peg’s sheets and pillowcases into a cast iron kettle. They sent curious looks my way as they scrubbed. I stared back without seeing them. Couldn’t shake the picture from my mind of McCullough kneeling beside his dead family while fire and brimstone burned behind him.

  A low growl rumbled in Fang’s throat, and I saw Sassy walking my way. She hesitated. I smoothed the dog’s ruffled fur and yelled to her. “It’s okay. He’s just warning me someone is around. He won’t hurt ya.”

  With a the-hell-he-won’t look on her face, she tiptoed to my side. “For crying in a bucket, Dixie. Better not drink any more tequila for a while. Stuff makes ya too puny.”

  She settled down beside me and wiped my face with a cool washrag. I brushed a tear from my eye and rested my head on her shoulder. Didn’t have the heart to tell her my being sick had nothing to do with what I drank. The three of us must have made a strange sight sitting underneath the oak tree. Again, the faint scent of lavender wafted on the breeze, and I wrinkled my nose.

  “Why does Fang smell so good?” I asked her.

  “Oh hell. You know Fancy. She insisted on giving him a bath. Used all of Peg’s swanky smelling bath salts.” Easy and ever so slow, she reached across me and patted the dog’s head. “Lucky she didn’t put ribbons in his hair.”

  That explained his sorrowful look. How degrading for a half-wild dog to be treated like a child’s rag doll.

  “She wanted to name him Gumdrop.”

  We broke out into a fit of giggles. My mood sobered. Had to know the rest about McCullough.

  “What happened after…after, you know, McCullough found his ma?”

  A large sigh. Sassy gathered her robe in under her. Didn’t seem the least bit worried about the grass and dirt that stained the elegant dressing gown. Absent-mindedly, I weaved my fingers in and out of Fang’s fur, list
ened to the birds chirping and the drone of her voice.

  “There ain’t that much more to tell. Guilt ate a hole in his heart. Blamed himself for the whole mess. Said if he had been home, they’d still be alive.”

  “That’s loco. He couldn’t have stopped those blood-thirsty hoodlums. They’d’ve shot him dead.”

  She picked up a twig and drew circles in the dust. “Oh, hon. Don’t you think he’s been told that a hundred times?”

  The sing-song talk coming from the laundry girls drifted past us on a gentle breeze. The air still carried the cool of the night. By afternoon it would be too hot to sit in the grass. Such a peaceful morning to be talking about such violent things.

  “He buried all of them, then found the Pinkerton Agency and became a detective. I think tracking down outlaws is like a penance to him. Each arrest is an atonement. Swore he’d never be responsible for any life other than his own.”

  Words from weeks passed came back to my memory. “Don’t saddle me with that burden.” He’d made me angry then. Now I understood.

  “He built a wall around his heart that none of us thought could ever be torn down.” A deep breath jiggled her bosoms. “But something happened that changed all that.”

  Curious, I glanced at her. “What?”

  “You.”

  My heart leaped so high into my gullet, I almost choked. “Me? How?”

  “Have no idea. All I know is, the Jackson McCullough that sat across from you at the breakfast table this morning is a changed man.” She squared around to look me in the eye. “Mother of God, Dixie. Ain’t never heard him call any one darlin’.”

  “He’s always called me darling.”

  “My point exactly. That cowboy keeps his mouth shut tighter than a bear trap. Never heard him talk as much as he did this morning.” She stood and pulled me from the ground. “I think McCullough’s met his match. And”—she winked—“I think he’s yours for the taking.”

  I laughed.

  “Dixie, I’m serious. He’s in love with you, only he don’t know it yet. It’s like you and him are one half of the other.” She scoffed at my snort. “Think about it. Your lives run side-by-side. You’re from the south. So was his ma. You lost all your family. So did he. You’re alone. He is too. He locked up his heart. And so have you.”